


The Albinean Berry

by VeloxVoid



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Romance, Coffee Shops, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Self-Discovery, Slow Romance, Trust, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeloxVoid/pseuds/VeloxVoid
Summary: Lysithea's new job at The Albinean Berry Tea Room leaves her flustered, but not just due to the demands of the job. Cyril, one of the regular customers, catches her eye at once with his easy charm.While at first she tries to deny the feelings, Lysithea eventually realises that she is falling for the strange, deep young man that is Cyril.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 39
Kudos: 33
Collections: Cysithea Week 2021





	1. Day 1: Coffee Shop AU

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of Cysithea Week 2021! I really hope everybody enjoys it — if you did, please let me know, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> I'm [VeloxVoid](https://twitter.com/VeloxVoid) on Twitter if you'd like to follow me for more :)

* * *

**Tuesday, 6th of the Harpstring Moon**

**Lysithea**

* * *

How hard could it be?

It was just a tea room. The manager had shown her the basics when she’d first been hired. She’d been given a full tour of the quaint little café, had practiced her coffee making skills at home, and had given herself a full pep talk in the mirror before heading out in the morning.

So why was she still so nervous upon opening up the shop alone? Why did her fingers tremble as she unlocked the front doors; why did the silence of the empty shop as she opened up all the blinds perturb her so?

For Lysithea’s first shift at _The_ _Albinean Berry,_ a little café on the outskirts of the city of Garreg Mach, she would be alone.

The tea room was quaint, independently-owned, and never seemed to attract too much attention. Lysithea had imagined it to be perfect for her first job. She had been very surprised, however, when its owner had sprung the news on her that she would be expected to take her first shift on her own.

"I'm having an operation on Tuesday, you see, and with my daughter on vacation, no one was available to cover my shift!" Ms. Casagranda had told Lysithea as she'd been hired.

Lysithea had been startled into silence. "I'm… so sorry to hear that," she'd stuttered at last.

"Oh, it's only a mole removal, dear. Don’t you worry! But you'd be really doing me a favour by taking the shift."

How could Lysithea be expected to decline? Her only concern was how unprepared she was.

"Tuesdays are always slow, it’s no need for concern. It's the best day to start on!" And Ms. Casagranda had winked.

Now, Lysithea wasn't so sure. She busied herself around _The Albinean Berry_ in the hopes of distracting herself. She pulled the trays of goods baked fresh this morning out from under the counters and displayed them neatly atop the counter, placing their glass domes over them to keep them at their best. After that, she started up the coffee machines, gave the tables one last quick clean, and straightened out the pretty pink apron she wore over her dress.

Glancing at the clock hanging up over the menu on the wall, she found the time to be dead-on 8am.

 _Great…_ Lysithea sighed, tossed her hair over her shoulders, and walked over to the door. Determination coursing throughout her made her ball her hands into fists — _Lysithea, c'mon, you can do this!_ — and she reached up to turn the little sign in the window around. Now, anybody walking past the shop would be able to read the adorable cursive lettering:

_Welcome!_

_We are:_

**_Open!_ **

In a way, she had anticipated customers to flock in at once, crowding the counter, babbling at her for their drinks, squabbling over the tables and sofas for somewhere to sit. So it was a relief when the passersby continued to hustle past the window, not even glancing over at the little tea room in their haste.

After a few minutes of nothing, Lysithea relaxed a little. She headed behind the counter, found the leather-seated stool, and hopped up onto it. Perhaps she would make herself a hot chocolate — there were plenty of mini-marshmallows in that little mason jar to her side. Or perhaps she could sneak a slice of the cherry, chocolate, and almond brownie? She could place a couple of coins into the register to make up for it, and Ms. Casagranda would never know, surely…?

Lysithea slipped a piece out from under its glass dome onto a small circular plate. Behind the counter was a small assortment of cutlery to choose from; she picked out a dainty three-pronged form and sank its fangs into the soft gooeyness of the brownie. Her mouth watered at the rich scent of the chocolate, and she lifted the little chunk up towards her lips—

The door’s bell rang out into the shop with raucous chimes, almost causing her to drop the plate. Her heart set to pounding, and she dashed about behind the counter in an attempt to hide her thievery.

A young man approached the counter, fixing her with a glare through fantastic cinnabar-hued eyes. Lysithea cleared her throat, placing a paper napkin delicately atop her brownie, and straightened out her apron. “W-welcome to _The Albinean Berry!”_ she said in her best attempt to sound cheery. “What can I get for you?”

The man raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down almost suspiciously. “You’re new,” he simply said.

Lysithea bristled at once. How frightfully rude of him! No greeting, no welcome — not even telling her his order! She made sure to display her indignation clearly upon her face. “What an astute observation!” she huffed.

He cocked his head at her. “Is it?”

She narrowly restrained herself from stomping her foot. “Congratulations for noticing. This is my first day. But I hardly see how that’s relevant!”

“Woah.” He raised both hands in a surrender, his eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to offend ya, Miss. Really.”

The more Lysithea looked into those eyes — big, circular eyes with a hue so startlingly red — the more she realised they were quite pretty. They were set deep into a round face, which was circled by a crown of loose, chocolatey brown curls. There was a slight dimple in his chin, and a thin pink scar slashed into his right eyebrow and forehead. A unique face, she noted. A nice one.

But now was not the time to be analysing the man. Now, Lysithea had to serve him.

“What can I get for you?” she sighed.

“Um,” and he began fumbling in the pocket of slim-fitting beige chinos, “can I get a pot of Almyran Pine Needles?”

“Almyran Pine Needles,” Lysithea repeated. She nodded and turned around, to where jars of tea leaves were lined up on the wall behind her. “Sure. That’ll be… uhh…” _Darn._ Where was the prices list when she needed it!? She felt her cheeks grow hot as she scoured the shelves.

“Here ya go, don’t worry.”

She turned around sharply, to where he held out a hand filled with gold coins. Lysithea narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“I’m, uh… kinda a regular,” he said with a shrug. “I get the Almyran Pine Needles every day.” He poked his hand at her once again.

Lysithea pressed her lips together, swallowing her pride. _How utterly embarrassing._ “Thank you,” she said, taking the coins from his hand. His palm was clammy.

“No prob. First days are always pretty weird, so don’t worry about it too much.” He gave her a wobbly smile through full lips, nodding his head awkwardly.

She held back from rolling her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was stiff. “Thank you for the advice. Take a seat.”

He cleared his throat and turned, making his way through the room.

Lysithea was surprised she didn’t emit steam as she put his coins in the register. First, this guy pointed out how new she was, then he did her job for her, and after all of that, he still had the audacity to patronise her? _A regular,_ she thought bitterly to herself. _Getting the Almyran Pine Needles every time. Psh._

As he walked away, however, Lysithea noted a laptop bag slung over one of his shoulders. _Oh no,_ she thought suddenly. Laptops in cafes could only mean one thing. _He’s here to work. He’s here to stay._

She almost buried her head in her hands. This man, whom she’d almost just snapped at, would be staying there until he finished his tea. They were alone in the cafe together. And, as he took a seat next to the window, retrieving a laptop from his bag whilst accidentally locking eyes with her, he would be sitting facing her the entire time.

_Great._

Lysithea busied herself with making the rest of his Goddess-forsaken tea.

Once she had clumsily placed the teapot, cup, and saucer onto a tray, she picked it up and walked steadily through the shop with it, meeting his eyes as he looked cautiously up at her.

“Here you go,” she said, setting everything down upon the free space next to his laptop.

“Thanks a lot.” He winced slightly as she sloshed a splash of tea onto the table.

“I’ll… let you pour it yourself,” she said, her cheeks heating in embarrassment.

“Sounds good.” The man pulled the teapot and cup towards him. “Say, uh, is this gonna be a full-time job for ya?”

Lysithea cocked her head at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. What a strange question for a stranger to be asking her. She pulled the empty tray in close to her body, holding it tight.

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “I need to work full-time to afford the apartment I’m renting. Why?”

His eyes widened slightly as she spoke, giving him the air of a curious child. Her heart fluttered slightly in her chest as he did so, and she cursed herself inwardly for finding his motion the slightest bit cute. “Ah, no reason. Just wonderin’ if I’d see ya more often, that’s all.”

“Yes, unfortunately so,” she sighed, watching him chuckle.

“Sorry, I’ll stop buggin’ ya, Miss…” He peered confusedly at the name tag pinned to her apron. “Miss… Lih-sih-they-yuh? Wha…?”

Heat flushed through her at once, burning her cheeks and making her fingers tighten even more on the tray she held. Was she embarrassed? Did she find it funny? Did she find him cute? She didn’t know — she didn’t _want_ to know! “It’s _Lysithea!”_ she hissed.

“Oh, man!” He laughed loudly, the sound clear and musical. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Lysithea, got it!” He dissolved into poorly-masked chuckles. “That’s okay, you can just call me Sigh-reel.”

She felt her lips twitch in a smile. “Sigh-reel? What’s that supposed to be?”

“Cyril,” he said, cocking his head and smiling into her eyes. “Nice to meet ya.”

 _Cyril._ A handsome name. Boyish and cute, suiting him perfectly.

Lysithea shook her head. What was she thinking? She’d only just met him! Instead, she nodded and pressed the tray closer to her chest. “I suppose it’s nice to meet you too, Cyril. Enjoy your Pine Needles.”

“Thanks,” he said back, holding up the teacup to her as if to toast. “I’ll try.”

She turned, offering him one last bashful smile, and headed back towards the counter. _I’ll try,_ he’d said, in that slightly deep, winsome voice of his.

_Wait…_

He’d _try_ to enjoy her tea…? What was _that_ supposed to mean!?


	2. Day 2: Safe Haven

* * *

**Wednesday, 7th of the Harpstring Moon**

**Cyril**

* * *

Shouldering his way into _The Albinean Berry Tea Room,_ Cyril felt shock jolt his muscles slightly as he saw that girl behind the counter again.

Throughout all his months of visiting, he’d grown very much accustomed to seeing either Ms. Casagranda or her daughter, Dorothea, behind the counter. The older woman would greet him with her singsong voice, welcoming him with the announcement that she’d _“saved your seat, darling!”,_ and Dorothea would always hop around the counter to give him a quick hug.

He liked this place because of those two women. When Cyril had been younger, he’d seen much of Ms. Casagranda from when she would visit his orphanage. She had offered every child who lived there a smile like sunshine, and had performed beautiful opera songs in the main hall for them all to spectate. She’d brought a little spark of joy to Cyril’s otherwise lost and confusing life. And when she left each day, she would leave with Dorothea Arnault.

The girl was a few years older than him, and the carers at the orphanage explained that Dorothea was being fostered by Ms. Casagranda. After a few years of fostering, visiting Dorothea and taking her home over the weekends, Ms. Casagranda adopted her. It was a feat every child in the orphanage aspired to attain, and Dorothea did. She was lucky.

Needless to say, a few years later when Cyril was eighteen and spurred out into the world beyond the orphanage — still parentless, but with his head held high — he was incredibly surprised to see Dorothea and her mother opening a tea shop in Garreg Mach’s city centre. _The Albinean Berry_ was quaint, cute, and homely; a reminder of a family Cyril had never truly known. It was a delight to sit inside, warm and comfortable, downing tea with musical giggles in his ears.

Spending time around Ms. Casagranda again every morning before work offered Cyril a sort of sanctum. It was a place he could relax, and enjoy that spark of sunshine once again before ploughing onwards with his life. _The Albinean Berry Tea Room,_ with the smiles and songs and sweet embraces from Ms. Casagranda and Dorothea, had become his safe haven. So to walk into the building and be met instead with a wide-eyed stare from a bristly stranger… It unnerved him a little.

Thus, Cyril shuffled over to the counter and felt his lips tighten in an awkward smile. 

Lysithea behind the counter was cleaning teacups with a cloth, examining him with rosy-hued eyes. They were astounding eyes, he had to admit; bright pink with flecks of scarlet and indigo within, crowned by eyelashes the same silvery-white colour as her hair. Lysithea looked interesting to say the least. Pretty. Round-faced, full-cheeked, large-eyed. Cyril had never been one to notice beauty in others — he had never particularly _cared_ — but Lysithea…

She was pretty, for sure. He didn’t really get _why_ he found her so pretty, but he did. The thought made butterflies dance in his stomach, which he fought hard to quell before placing his hands upon the counter.

“Welcome to _The Albinean Berry,”_ she said, her tone a little stilted. She swallowed, placed the cup and cloth down, and straightened out her apron. “Almyran Pine Needles, isn’t it? I’ll start it right away.”

“Thanks,” Cyril said, his chest growing tight. He’d never been the most talkative at the best of times, but Lysithea’s utter… sharpness, for lack of a better word, made him feel like shutting up and never opening his mouth again.

He placed down exact change upon the counter, turned, and headed over to his seat. By the window, he could look out into the street of Garreg Mach beyond — at people bustling to their jobs, briefcases in hand, coats and scarves billowing in the breeze that had picked up overnight.

Cyril reached into his bag, retrieved from within his laptop, and began to set up on the table. He kept a little notepad at hand, shrugged off his jacket, and straightened his shoulders ready for work.

His brain, however, didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Cyril opened up his emails and a _Word_ document, facing a bombardment of jargon from his insidiously boring office job, but couldn’t will himself to work. He needed to edit an email, which he would then need to forward to his boss, yada yada. The thought bored him to no end.

Instead, his eyes drifted; he watched the back of Lysithea’s head as she stood preparing his tea. Her hair fell in a pristine sheet of silver down her back, and she had tied a little purple ribbon in it. That was sweet. It made heat flush to his cheeks.

Cyril loved this tea room. He loved the fifty minutes of peace he could enjoy before work, preparing for the day ahead. He loved staring out of the window, counting the amount of black coats and white jackets on the passersby; he loved giving absent little chuckles watching some poor sap trip upon that one _damn_ pothole in the paving. He loved the scents of tea and coffee and cake that would waft over to his nose, and the calming elevator-esque music that would play gently from speakers in the ceiling.

The place was perfect. Hearing hearty conversation from Dorothea and her mother was lovely. But watching Lysithea’s white hair whirl around her as she turned, and her pretty little face shining out at him from across the shop… That was okay too. He liked that too.

Watching her walk steadily over to him with a tray of tea, still a little wobbly although better now that she’d replaced her kitten heels with flat shoes, Cyril found himself smiling. The view out of the window was nice, but Lysithea’s face — eyebrows drawn tight and biting her lip as she walked — was a little nicer. Cyril, in that moment, found himself wanting to get to know her better.

But, he then supposed, that was not her job. She was here to make tea, and he was here to work. He was not here to watch the barista, as beautiful as she may have been. He was instead here to type away on his silly little laptop, getting on with his silly, menial work, boring himself out of his mind.

And thus, when Lysithea set down his tea with an unsure “Here you are,” Cyril simply nodded.

“Thanks,” he replied. He looked back to his laptop screen, and forced himself to work.


	3. Day 3: Dreams

* * *

**Thursday, 8th of the Harpstring Moon**

**Lysithea**

* * *

For the third day in a row, Cyril graced _The_ _Albinean Berry_ with his familiar, albeit sullen, presence at 8am on the dot. He wore the signature dark green jacket he had the last two times, opting for a white shirt beneath it that was tucked into dark brown trousers. Those colours suited him wonderfully, Lysithea thought.

The tight-lipped smile he offered her as he placed his coins upon the counter looked sadder than usual, and he made no attempt to speak before turning and heading towards his table. Lysithea looked after him for a few moments, watching him retrieve his laptop from out of its satchel, set everything up in his little nook of the tea room, and gaze out of the window with brilliant ruby eyes.

Something seemed to be bothering him. His jaw looked tight, the slightest knot visible above his eyebrows. Lysithea felt the muscles of her face begin to tense, in the way they did when she came across a particularly tough equation; when something needed to be figured out.

What was wrong with Cyril? Was something the matter with him—?

She caught herself, her muscles jolting as she realised: what did it matter? Cyril was merely a customer at her workplace. He had his own life, his own bothers, and they were nothing for her to be prying her way into. All her life she had been told she had a knack for being nosy — she was merely curious, that was all! — and here in this tea shop was no place for her to be executing such habits.

Thus, she busied herself. The Almyran Pine Needles required a high temperature for their flavour to effuse properly, mottling the water with their handsome amber tendrils. She had learned that much since being employed here, and she wanted the tea to be perfect for Cyril—

— for everybody. The tea needed to be of the utmost quality for  _ all _ of her customers. Yes.

Yet as she waited for the water to boil, she couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting to the window. Cyril’s face when she’d first met him had broken so easily into a smile, one that lit up his face in such a charming way. Now, however, it was sullen; dull, positively sad. Perhaps it was his aura — an air he’d brought into the shop with him — but Lysithea felt an ache of sadness in her heart just from looking at him. Somebody like him didn’t deserve to look so forlorn, she thought.

Before she could control herself, she was gazing intently at the counter’s display of sweet treats, her mind whirring in puzzle-solving mode. What, did she think, would Cyril like best?

Some of the chocolate cake? Chocolate cake  _ seemed _ a safe bet, but then again, not everybody was fond of its deep richness of flavour. A shortcake? It was sweet and melty on the tongue for sure, but its texture was a little unpleasant to the palates of some. The cherry bakewell tart…?

Lysithea’s mouth watered at the very thought. The scent of glacé cherries, frangipane, and hot, buttery pastry… Who  _ couldn’t _ like a cherry bakewell tart!?

She plated it up at once, placing it delicately on the tray alongside the teapot before taking it out to Cyril. Was she really going to do this? Thoughts swirled around her brain as her feet took her forward; she was being rash, headstrong, creepy, stepping out of turn. She would regret it. Yet still she walked, and still the muscles of her face curled into a smile as she approached Cyril’s side.

“Here you are,” she said, her voice coming out chirpier than anticipated.

It seemed to snap him from out of his daydream, and he stared up at her uncomprehending. “Oh, thanks,” he said after a second, clearing aside his little notepad to make room on the table.

Lysithea placed down his cup, teapot, and the plate of bakewell tart.

“Oh,” Cyril piped up at once, pushing the tart back towards her. “I didn’t order this.”

“I know,” Lysithea said, a little off-handedly. She offered him a smile, which he returned in an adorably wobbly fashion. “I just thought you could use it.”

“You did? Why?"

She shrugged. “Why not? Here, honestly, take it.”

“But I didn’t pay for it.”

That threatened to irritate her. She quelled the spark igniting upon her short fuse, willing herself to calm and smile sweetly instead. “I know, don’t worry. It’s on the house.”

“Gee,” Cyril blinked down at it through thick dark eyelashes. They curled fantastically at the tips, long and elegant; eyelashes to make any mascara-wearer green with envy. Lysithea herself began to blush at the sight. “Thanks, that’s real kind of ya.”

Lysithea nodded, and watched as the man picked up his tea. He blew on the steam billowing from the cup’s surface, but even still he didn’t return to his laptop. His gaze wandered to the window once more, and the unhappy gloom to his eyes returned.

Lysithea bit her lip. “Say, are you… okay?” she asked.

_ Oh,  _ this was a bad idea.  _ Oh _ , now she felt awkward. Yet for some reason, she found herself sitting down in the chair opposite Cyril, and watched his eyes of cinnabar widen at her from over the top of his laptop. He lowered its screen, revealing behind it a softly startled expression. Beneath the tendrils of steam billowing in front of his face, he appeared somewhat like a fawn — sitting terrified, only half-visible through the morning mist.

“Whaddaya mean?” he asked.

Lysithea crossed one leg over the other beneath the table. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but… You just seem a little down, that’s all.”

His face grew somehow even more startled. “I do? Huh…” And he looked down to his lap, expression clouding.

She swallowed a lump that had risen to her throat. “I’m happy to listen, if you want to talk about what’s bothering you, or…”  _ Oh, Lysithea!  _ she scolded herself.

After staring at her almost blankly for a moment, Cyril’s lips spread into a welcome smile. It seemed to light up the room, replacing the bleak aura of earlier with rays of sunshine. It was sweet.

“Well, thanks,” he said, cocking his head at her a little. “That’s awful nice of ya. I dunno if anything’s really  _ bothering _ me though…” And he dissolved back into his thoughts.

Lysithea sat patiently. If he had to work through the backlog of his mind to figure out if anything was wrong, there was most likely something wrong. She placed the empty tray into her lap, laced her fingers together, and placed her hands upon it.

“It’s just life and everythin’, y’know?” he said at last, looking back up to her eyes and searching them. Despite the words that had left his mouth — their presence baleful, deep and depressing — he looked almost happy.

“Life itself is what’s getting you down?” she asked him. That was a concerning notion.

He shrugged. “Well… I dunno. Think about it. You’re workin’ as a barista right now, ain’tcha?”

Lysithea felt her eyes narrow slightly; where was this going? “I am…”

“But when you were a little kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

The question alarmed her. Childhood dreams and aspirations were usually the topics of conversations with close friends, family members, romantic partners. For a customer in this tea shop — a stranger to her, really — to be asking such a thing…? How odd. How almost  _ rude. _

For some reason, she found herself answering him all the same. “I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I was younger,” she said, her mind taking her back to the dark times of her past. “My family never even thought I’d make it to the age of fifteen, let alone twenty.”

Cyril’s face fell, his expression growing grave.

_ Oh, crap. _

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed at once, heat rising to her cheeks. “I— I have no idea why I just said that, I…” And she began to fan herself with one hand, panic and adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“No, no, that’s my fault,” Cyril said hurriedly, offering her a smile that curdled to become queasy. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to intrude or anything. Do you wanna… talk about it…?”

“Oh!” Her blush deepened. Nobody had ever asked further before. The topic was an awkward one, and had always made people either change the subject in an instant, or had driven them away altogether. “That’s okay, honestly. It’s just…” And now that she was asked about it, she had no idea what to say. How to explain it? The mystery illness she’d battled with all her life, the time and effort and money her family had spent into figuring out a diagnosis... “Nobody knows what it is,” she said finally. “I’m just thankful I’m still around.”

“Of course,” Cyril said, nodding quickly. “And I’m glad too.”

“Anyway.” She shook her head, shaking away with it the awkwardness of the situation and her incessant blushing. “I’m sorry, that was… really rude of me—”

“Not at all.” Huge, earnest eyes bored into her own, flecks of gold swimming amongst the red. “It’s like ya said. You’re happy to listen to what’s botherin’ me even though I’m basically a stranger, so it works the other way round too. If you wanna talk…” And he shrugged happily, nonchalantly. “I’m here for ya.”

Lysithea’s chest swelled. How was a stranger so nice? This young man was treating her better than some of the friends she’d had for years. That, she thought, was a feat.

“Thank you,” she responded, her voice coming out higher than anticipated. It made her sound almost shy, but she realised suddenly that she didn’t even mind. Not in front of Cyril.

“No prob,” he said back, voice no more than a murmur.

After looking at him for a moment longer, Lysithea remembered his original question. “Why, what did  _ you _ want to be when you grew up?”

Cyril smiled at her. “Me? Huh… I guess some sorta charity worker. So I could help other people.”

A fuzzy warmth danced around her heart. “That’s so sweet.” She considered his question again. “I never had a dream job per se, but I always thought it would be nice to find out my illness. To be able to diagnose it, or… cure it, even.” 

“Then maybe we could team up! A charity to help other people with your illness, find out what it is and stuff!”

Lysithea couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. “That’s something to work towards!” she said, and gazed into his smiling eyes. “I take it you’re not a charity worker now, then?”

His smile faded. “Nah. Work in some boring office. I’m an assistant.”

“Is that what’s getting you down?” Lysithea asked. “Your job?”

Cyril shrugged. “That's why I was gonna ask if this job was what you _wanted_ to be. 'Cuz I certainly never wanted to be an office assistant. The job I have now just sorta sums up the whole rest of my life, really.”

“And what’s that…?”

He was quiet for a moment, biting his lower lip and chewing on it a little. When he spoke, the word sent shudders up Lysithea’s spine. “It’s  _ boring.” _

Her heart ached for him. She blinked and her lips parted, yet she had nothing to say. What  _ could _ she say? Cyril considered his own life — his own existence — to be boring. What words could leave her mouth in such a situation as this that wouldn’t come across as patronising, or awkward, or out of turn…?

The shop’s bell rang behind her, catching Cyril’s attention. He looked up, handsome face adopting a sweet smile as he glanced back down to Lysithea.

“Looks like ya got a customer,” he said, voice hushed.

Lysithea tore herself away from Cyril’s gaze, glancing over her shoulder at where somebody young, wearing a suit, stood by the counter. “I suppose I have,” she responded.

“Go get ‘em,” Cyril told her, giving an encouraging nod.

In that moment, Lysithea wanted nothing less than to go and serve the customer. She wanted to sit right there, talking to Cyril. She could talk to him for hours, she realised; he was sweet, easy to get along with, and… strangely relatable.

But she had a job to do.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered to him, prying herself from the chair she’d nestled so comfortably into.

“No need to be. Catch ya later,” said Cyril, opening up his laptop once more and smiling at her from behind it.

“Catch you later.”

“Oh, and Lysithea?”

Her heart leapt and she turned back to him. “Yes?”

“Thanks for the tart.” He picked it up along with the little fork she’d given him, and caused her to emit a silly little giggle.

“You’re welcome,” she said. And, with her heart singing, a smile sticking to her cheek muscles, Lysithea turned, heading back to the counter and the customer who waited at it.


	4. Day 4: Stars

* * *

**Friday, 9th of the Harpstring Moon**

**Cyril**

* * *

A night walk.

That was what Cyril had taken to calling them, the wanders he would make around the outskirts of the city at midnight, when his mind would reel far too quickly for him to fall asleep.

Cyril didn’t remember much from Almyra, but the one thing he did remember, he missed dearly.

The countryside.

Growing up in the city of Garreg Mach, he had grown used to the towering grey metropolis; every street lined by buildings and cornered by skyscrapers, cars racing down the straight roads, groups of businesspeople flocking every street. The only animals were grey pigeons and grey rats, the sky overhead almost always overcast and… grey.

Almyra had been the opposite. Emerald fields and rainbow-hued plants, the landscape exploding with trees and animals of all shapes and sizes — deer, squirrels, foxes, multicoloured birds. His village was small, its houses smaller, with the warmest, happiest atmosphere enveloping everything beneath the azure skies.

In contrast, he rather hated Garreg Mach. He despised the city life. After fifteen years of it, Cyril had expected to grow used to it.

Yet he hadn't.

Traversing the streets at night was the closest he could come to tasting Almyra again. At night, the place was quiet. He could hide in the shadows, revel in the peace. The concrete jungle still towered, menacing, all around him, but its presence was less threatening. Now, it slept. The city slept. Some night owls like him still passed him by, but they weren’t a bother like the masses were during the day.

And so, Cyril wandered down the street he traversed every weekday morning, its path so different beneath the moon rather than the sun. The sign outside of _The_ _Albinean Berry_ was no longer bright and colourful, but grey. Bleak. Devoid of life. Instead of heading inside its doors as he did most mornings, he turned down the alleyway that ran beside it, ready to do something he was sure would get him in trouble if he was caught. The feeling was familiar now though — not something he was scared of, but something soothing.

The fire escape stairs at the back of the tea shop were shaky, the metal creaking beneath his weight as he hopped up them. But soon enough they delivered him up onto the roof, standing atop his beloved _Albinean Berry_ and moving forwards, towards the front of the shop. From there, he sat, just over the door, swinging his legs over the edge and into the cold night air below.

He could sit up there for hours. In fact, he felt he just might. Many a time had Cyril sat atop the tea shop, gazing into the streets below and letting his mind wander. Sometimes up there he would think about taking a week off from work, and what he’d do with his free time. Sometimes he would think of being back in Almyra; he’d always quietly dreamt of moving back there someday when he could afford it.

Tonight, however, he remembered his conversation with Lysithea. She’d asked him about his dream job, and he’d admitted out loud for the first time his desire for charity work. It had always felt so out of reach — so childish of him to want — but hearing the words leave his lips while gazing into Lysithea’s rose-coloured eyes had felt… right, somehow. Close. Attainable, in a strange way.

She hadn’t mocked him for it either. She’d said the idea was  _ sweet _ — hadn’t questioned him, hadn’t laughed at him. That was a first. Perhaps she felt such a way because she too had a dream of charity, in a way: to be able to discover her illness, find a cure…

Poor Lysithea. Nobody deserved to have poor health issues, but especially not somebody so kind and caring and cute as her. She’d brought him a tart because she’d thought he was sad.

She was amazing. 

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? She was a barista in the _ Berry, _ just like Dorothea was, but Cyril longed to get to know Lysithea better. She was pretty, feisty, incredibly kind, and had opened up to Cyril in a way nobody ever had before. A fear deep down in his stomach told him that he may have had some sort of…  _ crush. _

Cyril let out a long groan and rested his head in his hands. His forehead was hot despite the chill of the evening. So now he was burning up at the thought of her?  _ Oh, man. _

“What in the…?”  A woman’s voice, hushed yet bewildered, sounded from below him.

Cyril looked up at once, leaning over to inspect the path beneath his dangling feet.

Sure enough, standing looking up at him with confounded eyes, stood Lysithea. Her hair was tied up into a high ponytail behind her head, and she held a fluffy scarf up close to her neck as if trying to shield her skin from the cold.

“C-Cyril!? Is that you!?” she called up at him.

_ Oh, man! _

“Lysithea!?” he called back down to her, voice coming out equally as incredulous as he felt.

“I thought I heard you groan! What the heck are you doing up there!?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, aware of the volume of his voice. “Sometimes I just like sittin’ up here.”

She simply looked at him, her face small and yet still so beautiful, a smile widening until she beamed up at him. “You sit on top of the tea room?”

She made it sound ridiculous. Maybe it was. He opened his mouth, inhaling some of the sharp, cold midnight air, before he stopped in his tracks. Why would he shout down to her, disturbing the peace, when instead…?

“Wanna come up here with me?” he asked her, already standing up and gesturing to the alleyway at the building’s side. “It’s just up the fire escape. It’s super easy to climb up!”

Lysithea gave a disbelieving chuckle. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, sure! C’mon, I’ll meet ya down there!”

And he did. Lysithea’s chilly pale face peered around the wall of the alleyway and Cyril helped her to ascend the rickety steel staircase.

“It feels like it’ll break any second,” she muttered warily, her heels making  _ clang _ ing sounds against the metal.

“It won’t. Probably.” Cyril held a hand out to her, feeling her hot skin wrap around his own in a way that made his heart flutter.

She stepped unsteadily up onto the roof, looking around at the buildings that surrounded them;  _ The Albinean Berry _ was a short structure, with only two stories as opposed to the tens of the neighbouring office blocks. There wasn’t an awful lot of view to be beheld from the tea room’s roof, but it still felt somewhat exciting to Cyril to be up somewhere he knew he didn’t belong.

“Is this legal?” asked Lysithea, seeming to read his mind as they walked to the building’s front again.

Cyril chuckled. “Course it is! I mean, I don’t think we’re  _ supposed _ to be up here, but they can’t  _ arrest _ us, can they?”

“I guess we’ll just have to keep quiet so no one will notice us. You know, maybe keep the loud groaning to a minimum?”

She had said it jokingly, and yet still Cyril’s face burned with embarrassment. “Sure, sure. Whatever,” he said back to her through a soft laugh.

They reached the edge of the tea shop’s roof, and once again Cyril took a hold of Lysithea’s hand to help her sit, both swinging their legs over the edge.

“This feels so unsafe,” she murmured.

“It’s fine, trust me. I come up here most weekends, and I haven’t fallen off once yet.”

Lysithea gave a delicate giggle. “It’s not the weekend yet, though,” she simply replied, making Cyril laugh along with her. “What were you groaning about, anyway?” she asked, looking at him through eyes that brimmed with curiosity.

_ Oh no.  _ There was no way Cyril would ever admit to daydreaming about her — about her beauty and kindness making him dizzy with happiness. “Ah, y’know, the usual. Job. Life. Bleh.”

“Oh, for sure,” Lysithea said, smile audible in her voice. “Very bleh.”

They fell silent, both with their necks craned upwards to look towards the sky. The depth to the black had been bleached indigo by the city’s lights, leaching into the air in their thousands to disrupt the true intensity of midnight. That too was a sight Cyril had grown used to. He hadn’t ever seen a star here. He couldn’t remember any nighttimes from his childhood either; night for Cyril had always been starless.

“Aren’t you cold?” Lysithea asked after a moment, interrupting the silence and wrapping her arms around herself.

He looked down; he wore his favourite green jacket, and a dark grey sweater Ms. Casagranda had knitted for him beneath it. “Nah, I’m just the right temperature,” he said. “You look super cold, though.”

She buried the bottom of her face into her scarf. “Maybe,” she mumbled into the fluffy material.

He giggled at her. “You’re just delicate, ain’tcha? C’mere.” He held out one arm, beckoning her closer with his head.

Her eyelashes fluttered before she shuffled closer to him, pressing herself in against his body. “That’s… nicer,” she said once she’d settled, Cyril wrapping his arm around her skinny shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Not a prob,” he responded, though his cheeks grew all the more hot. With Lysithea this close, he could smell the amazing floral scent of her perfume — the fruity aroma of her shampoo. She smelled so sweet, matching her adorable visage and personality perfectly.

Cyril closed his eyes, bracing himself for the words about to leave his mouth. “You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d help ya with whatever’s goin’ on.”

Lysithea’s head whipped down to him, eyes wide and shocked. “Seriously…?”

“Seriously! I’m happy to lend a hand if ya ever need one.”

“Well… Sunday is my day off, since the tea room’s closed. I mean, duh, you know that. You’re a _ regular.”  _ Something about the way she said that made Cyril chuckle. It felt like an award handed to him mockingly. He would wear that with pride. “So I was thinking of putting aside a few hours to try to research it some more.”

“Research your illness?” Cyril asked.

She nodded. “Or, at least,  _ try _ to. I’ve tried a lot of times before, but I never really find much.” And she fell quiet, looking down to her high-heeled boots that she swung lightly off the side of the building.

“Well, maybe havin’ an extra pair of eyes’ll help,” Cyril told her, squeezing her shoulder encouragingly.

She leant into him with a little giggle. “You mean that?”

“Course I do.”

And to his surprise, she nodded into him. “I’d really appreciate that. Thank you, Cyril.”

Cyril looked up towards the sky once more and smiled. Beneath the light-polluted haze, he knew he would see no stars, and yet the aether above seemed to shine, sparkling. Perhaps it was simply having Lysithea next to him, nestled into his shoulder. He could happily sit that way all night.


	5. Day5: Trust

* * *

**Saturday, 10th of the Harpstring Moon**

**Lysithea**

* * *

Last night had been fun, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Making her way home from her friend’s house in the bleak, boring night had been almost frightening; walking alone far too late, cautious of each shadow and noise, hearing a groan from somewhere above her head and jumping out of her skin.

Only to find Cyril. Only to have a deep conversation with him, sitting atop a roof, resting her head against his shoulders and looking at the gradient of black to peach in the sky above.

It had been dreamy. The man smelled of Almyran Pine Needles — a deep, almost woody scent that tickled her stomach when she thought about it.

So for this Saturday morning to pass without even so much as a a glimpse of the man made Lysithea somewhat… sad. It had just reached lunchtime, a full four hours passing as the  _ Berry _ filled up with all manners of customers except for one.

Except for the only one she cared about.

“Lysithea, darling!” Ms. Casagranda burst through the doors to  _ The Albinean Berry _ in a flurry of coats, scarves, and bags of shopping. Her voice cut over the babble of the tea room’s low ambience, causing multiple customers’ heads to whip around to her, to where she flew across the shop to wrap Lysithea in an embrace.

Her perfume was strong and floral, hitting the back of Lysithea’s throat as she inhaled a lungful. Her eyes watered and she tried her best not to cough into the woman’s expensive-looking coat.

“How are you doing, dear?” asked Ms. Casagranda after pulling away, taking off her sunglasses to reveal a beautifully made-up face beneath. “The shop seems to be flourishing in your hands!”

Lysithea gave a cautious giggle. “It's great to see you! It’s all going well, thank you. Of course, I had tutoring from the best around.”

She had hoped that would please Ms. Casagranda, and it certainly seemed to. The woman gave a full, hearty laugh that burst from her red-painted lips like an opera song. “You flatter me!”

The shop’s owner was just as eccentric as Lysithea had remembered those few days ago.

“I just came by to check on the shop, see how everything was going.” She nosed around behind the counter, raising her eyebrows at the new way Lysithea had decided to stack the teacups.

“Everything’s fine,” Lysithea told her a little anxiously. “I hope your recovery is going well too?”

The fact that Ms. Casagranda had taken five days to recover from a mole removal was something Lysithea couldn’t quite believe. If Lysithea was able to work despite the constant pain in her muscles, the hypersensitive nerves that made even wearing clothes unbearable on some days, she failed to see how one tiny mole would incapacitate a woman for five days. Especially if said woman had evidently been on a shopping trip before paying her visit...

Lysithea digressed. At least she was getting paid overtime for manning the shop alone; that was something she couldn’t really complain about.

The door’s bell chimed once more, signalling yet another customer entering the shop on this most busy of Saturdays. The weekdays had been slow, so the onslaught of patrons flooding through the  _ Berry’s _ doors in the morning had panicked Lysithea to no end. She seemed to have everything in hand, however; the tip jar was swollen, indicating that she was doing a good enough job at least.

So when Lysithea and Ms. Casagranda looked up to the door in tandem, Lysithea felt her heart leap in her chest at the familiar sight of Cyril closing the door carefully after him. His hair looked a little messier today — the curls sitting atop his head more chaotically, almost as if they were windswept. He turned and his eyes met Lysithea’s at once, flashing her a smile that made butterflies burst in the pit of her stomach.

Ms. Casagranda at her side let out a yelp. _ “Cyril!” _

The cry made Lysithea leap out of her skin, and she stood bewildered as the woman dashed around the counter to wrap her arms around Cyril’s shoulders.

Even more to Lysithea’s surprise, Cyril held her back. “Hey Ms. Casagranda!” he chirped happily.

The woman pulled away and pat Cyril’s upper arm. “Oh, how I’ve missed you! Are you well? How have things been going?”

And Cyril began to chat to her happily, an unfamiliar smile sitting upon his lips the entire time. He looked… at home. Comfortable, content; as if talking to the tea room’s owner was something he did every day. 

Perhaps they knew each other. Perhaps that was why Cyril frequented the place so often. Lysithea didn’t know. She simply turned around, still smiling, and prepared his Almyran Pine Needles.

His presence made her feel warm, she realised suddenly. So often had he appeared first thing in the morning, a presence that set up her day just nicely, that she had grown used to it. Lysithea set his teapot and teacup down on the small circular tray and placed it upon the counter just as he and Ms. Casagranda rejoined her.

“I’ll be off, sweethearts,” said Ms. Casagranda, blowing them each a kiss. “I’ll be back to join you on Tuesday! Don’t forget, you’re off tomorrow as well!”

“No problem, stay safe!” Lysithea called, waving as the woman trotted away to the door.

“Bye,” said Cyril, joining Lysithea in a wave. Afterwards, he turned back to her and gave a lopsided smile through full, handsome lips. “Say, where ‘n’ when are we gonna meet tomorrow? For our lil research thing.”

_ Our lil research thing. _ A part of Lysithea felt that the word  _ ‘thing’ _ had been used in place of  _ ‘date’. _ And a lot of Lysithea didn’t mind that at all.

“Shall we say midday? Maybe we could get some lunch beforehand or something.” That was a risk. Lunch together beforehand was far more date-worthy than merely sitting scouring the internet together.

“Midday, sure,” he nodded, making her heart sing. “But where? We could go to the library, I know they’ve got plenty o’ medical books.”

“Mm, library’s closed on Sundays,” Lysithea replied, shaking her head. Preparing her answer to him made her stomach queasy; it sounded pathetic. It sounded silly and childish and so incredibly dry it almost brought her to tears. But she wore a bright smile and tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder.

_ I was thinking we could sit here in the tea shop while we researched! _

The words rang in her mind a little too loudly, demanding to be let out. Yet she couldn’t. Suggesting they sat here, in the place she worked, because she had nowhere else to go to do her research, sounded awful. She couldn’t bring him home to her apartment, for that would sound  _ awfully _ presumptuous of their current situation. As well, there was the fact she didn’t feel comfortable sharing the tiny space with anybody at the moment, let alone the man she realised she _liked_ —

“That sure is a shame,” Cyril said, interrupting her thoughts with a slightly awkward tone.

_ Just say the words, Lysithea. Just invite him to the tea shop tomorrow. It’s not hard! _

She let out a long breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She couldn’t do it. It was simply too embarrassing.

“We’ll figure something out,” she said at last. “For now, let’s just meet up for lunch, shall we?”

Cyril nodded at her, a relieved smile upon his handsome features. “Sounds like fun. Ya got a place in mind?”

She became lost in those ruby eyes. They looked so fiery — passion deep within them, swirling beneath the flecks of scarlet and gold. Lysithea found she could stare into them and never pull away.

What was it about Cyril? All her life, Lysithea had been a wary person. She had been told her disposition was somewhat prickly, but around Cyril, she knew she could let her guard down. He was sweet and compassionate in a way that was new to her. She found, somehow, that she trusted him.

He cocked his head at her, raising one eyebrow rather like a confused puppy. “Hello?” he asked, waving a hand in front of her face. “You good?”

Lysithea started, heart beginning to pound. “Sorry! Sorry, yes… Um, what was the question?”

And Cyril let out a laugh; loud and musical, a little low to match his voice but still bright and beautiful. With that laugh, the sun finally burst over the horizon with beautiful golden rays; Lysithea’s morning had broken. A morning full of disappointment and loneliness, now filled with the joy of Cyril’s presence.

She smiled wide at him. “Let’s meet outside the  _ Star Terrace _ cafe, shall we?”


	6. Day 6: Promises

* * *

**Sunday, 11th of the Harpstring Moon**

**Cyril**

* * *

_ Lunch with Lysithea. _

How could something so simple have been so completely, utterly perfect? At the  _ Star Terrace _ cafe, Cyril had chuckled at Lysithea ordering the pancakes drowned in maple syrup and cream, and had decided to order sweet waffles to accompany her. Sweet waffles were not his food of choice — he didn’t even particularly  _ like _ them — but for Lysithea, it was worth it.

When they spoke together, they clicked. They were truly on the same wavelength, giggling at all of each others’ jokes, enjoying the same conversations, interested in what the other had to say...

So to walk back through the city streets with the young woman, feeling her press close to his side as they spoke about the weather and the month and what they had in store for their next weekend off work, Cyril’s mind whirred into overdrive.

Was it a date? Had they just been on a lunch date? Or were they simply friends? Was Lysithea walking so close to his side because the morning was chilly, or because she wanted to be closer to him? He didn’t know; all he knew was that he liked her. He liked her  _ so _ much. 

Lysithea stopped outside of  _ The Albinean Berry _ and took a deep breath. All of a sudden, she looked nervous — anxious — with concerned eyebrows and a wobble to her lips. “You, um… You wouldn’t mind if we did our research in here, would you?” she asked after a long moment.

Cyril blinked up at the shop, at its shuttered windows and dark, uninviting interior. “It’s not open today,” he said a little listlessly.

“No doy,” replied Lysithea, pouting at him. “It’s just that… the library isn’t open, and I have my laptop and some books with me, and… I don’t know, I was thinking I could make us tea while we researched…?”

“Oh!”  _ Oh indeed. _ “That sounds adorable, sure!” 

It was an incredibly cute idea, one that threatened to make Cyril’s heart pound out of his chest. The place they’d met! The place they had spent most of their time together in — or on top of. To spend the day in there, alone, just the two of them, when the place wasn’t even supposed to be open?

“A-adorable!?” exclaimed Lysithea as she turned around to unlock the front doors. “I’m… not so sure about that.”

“‘Course it is! It’s a secret, for just the two of us.”

Lysithea giggled, opening the door and prompting him inside. “Just like sitting on the roof is a secret for just the two of us.”

He snickered back at her, heading through the door into the eerie silence of the tea room beyond. “How long will you tease me about that?” he asked her.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m ever gonna let that one slide.” She locked the door behind her, enveloping them both in the dim ambient light of the shuttered shop. “Sitting on the roof of the tea room in the dead of night… It might just be the weirdest behaviour I’ve ever seen!”

“Weirder than getting sweet pancakes for lunch?” he asked, smirking with one eyebrow raised.

She blushed visibly, but her fire was back. “Pancakes are a perfectly normal lunch choice, thank you very much!” she scolded.

The two of them dissolved into laughter. Lysithea headed to one wall to switch on the lights, while Cyril began to set up his designated table by the window.

_ Ah, man.  _ Thoughts circled in his mind like a flock of startled birds, jittery and excitable.  _ Was _ this a date? She was going to make tea for them both! They were full of lunch and their conversations had gone well, and she looked so,  _ so _ pretty as she set up a couple of tea cups and got the water to boiling.

Cyril placed his elbows together, interlaced his fingers, and rested his chin upon his hands. He sighed.  _ Man, _ life had gone from dull to incredible in just a few short days. A sour-faced girl who had once been a stranger was now the highlight of his life, the first thing upon his mind in the morning and the last thing he thought about before sleeping.

_ Lysithea. Lysithea what? _ He felt a pang of shame thrum upon his heartstrings as he realised he’d never even learnt her surname.

“Say,” he piped up over the sound of the steaming water. He watched Lysithea’s interest pique as she turned towards him. “I never got your last name.”

She gave a wicked smile. “I never got yours either.” And she turned back around, busying herself with making their tea.

When at last she approached their table once more, she placed the tray down upon its centre. His own cup held the recognisable dark brown of Almyran Pine Needles, but Lysithea’s swam with a liquid hued bright orange. Cyril cocked his head at it as she sat down across from him.

“Whatcha got there?”

“My tea?” She tossed her hair over her shoulders and settled in her chair. “It’s a honeyed-fruit blend.”

Cyril smirked. “Bet that’s real sweet, ain’t it? Taste like those pancakes  _ drowning _ in maple syrup from this morning?”

She scowled — an adorable sight. “Whatever. Drink your needles.”

He did. He took a sip of the smoky, earthy tea and smiled. Lysithea pushed her cup to the side and fetched from out of her bag a couple of thick, heavy-looking textbooks. They seemed to shake the table with their weight as she placed them down.

“These what we’re gonna be readin’?” Cyril asked, feeling ever-so-slightly daunted by the prospect.

“We can, but I also have my laptop as well.” And she pulled out a tiny, notebook-sized laptop from out of her bag and opened it up. That made Cyril smile stupidly; the laptop was petite and dainty, just like her.

Thus, he pulled one of the books towards him, eyeing its cover filled with pictures of cells and x-ray imagery.

_ Symptoms and Signs in Clinical Medicine, 13th Edition. _

Cyril’s eyes widened at the words.  _ 13th edition…!? _

He had never been the best at biology in school. Thus, when he opened the book to be met with a contents page that looked to be straight out of a doctor’s fever dream, he promptly closed it again.

“Hey… I think Ms. Casagranda’s friends with some sorta doctor guy, y’know,” he said.

She looked up at him from her laptop’s screen, hope alight in her fantastic eyes. “Do you know what kind of doctor?”

Cyril cast his mind back to a conversation with Ms. Casagranda, as she’d babbled about her good friend Dr. Hanneman von Something-or-Other. He couldn’t quite remember the details — the woman talked fast and frequently. “I think it might be related to blood?”

She smiled at him, her eyes searching his face in a way that told him she was buzzing with ideas. “Well, that’s certainly a place to start. Related to blood, huh…?” And she delved back into thought. 

“I can ask Ms. Casagranda to get in touch with him for you, if you’d like. I’m sure they’d both be happy to help — she’s always goin’ on about him and his work and his generosity and stuff.”

She nodded, a small and sweet smile upon her lips. “I’d love that, thank you.”

_ Man, _ was she pretty. “No prob,” he whispered back.

Lysithea returned to her screen, and the two of them began to talk. Cyril asked what parts of the book he should start by looking through, and Lysithea began to tell him about her specific symptoms. Her voice was gentler as she spoke about it — her pain, the hardships she’d faced — and Cyril felt his heart grow both warmer and harder.

He wanted so badly to help. Somebody as incredible as her didn’t deserve what she was going through. The way she spoke was somewhat sad, although with a layer of factuality blanketed over the top, almost as if she were trying to distance herself from the situation.

In that moment, Cyril promised himself that he would do anything he could to help her. 

The moment fell silent. After a minute more of quiet reading, Lysithea slumped back in her chair, causing Cyril to look up at her.

“You okay?” he asked.

She stared intently at him, something almost far-away upon her face. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Whaddaya mean?”

“For sitting and researching with me… I really appreciate it. You don’t have to do it — it’s your weekend off work — and yet you agreed to sit here with me while I bore you out of your mind.”

“Are you kiddin’?” Cyril couldn’t resist smiling at the ridiculousness of her words. “This isn’t boring at all! It’s all new to me, but I love learnin’ new stuff.”

And as she continued to gaze at him, her distanced expression turned to a bashful one. “I can’t thank you enough. I just really appreciate that you’re happy to do this with me.”

“Any time.” Cyril swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat, and slowly reached his hand across the table. He opened his palm to her, beckoning gently with his fingers.

To his surprise, she took it. She wrapped those beautiful dainty fingers around his own and gave the lightest, airiest of chuckles.

The words  _ ‘ so what now?’ _ ran through Cyril’s mind before he pushed them out. There was no need to act further. He needed to appreciate this moment for what it was: delicate, sweet, and special.

When Lysithea spoke up, she did so quietly. “Oh, by the way, my surname is von Ordelia.”

_ Von Ordelia.  _ That was pretty. It reminded Cyril of some sort of flower. “Well, Lysithea von Ordelia, it’s nice to finally meet ya.” He smirked and squeezed her hand. “I’m Cyril Taleb.”

And, for reasons unknown to Cyril, she blushed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Cyril Taleb.”


	7. Day 7: Fate

* * *

**Monday, 12th of the Harpstring Moon**

**Lysithea**

* * *

With Monday came the return to life as normal. Lysithea opened up  _ The Albinean Berry _ and set up the quaint little shop — opening the blinds, wiping down the tables, setting up the treats, and preparing for another day.

Thoughts still swam in her mind; more than once did Lysithea find herself gazing off into space, her hands still buzzing with the memory of Cyril’s fingers upon her own. He’d held her hand softly, gently squeezing it while his lips curled into that signature wonky smile she loved so much. The day had been so tender — so perfect. A lunch date followed by him asking about her wellbeing, holding her hand, gazing into her eyes…

The memories almost made her dizzy.

Thus, when it came time for the shop to open, her heart leapt inside her chest. She unlocked the shop’s doors, sat behind the counter, and turned on the radio to find it playing a heartfelt ballad. That made her kick her feet a little in delight.

8am, however, came and went. It delved, languid and painful, into 9am with only a couple of customers making an appearance, stopping and ordering a take-out hot drink. No Cyril.

That concerned her.

Ever so slowly, as 10am presented her with a handful of young customers, and midday delivered a mass of businesspeople on break, Lysithea supposed that Cyril’s absence made sense.

What had she been thinking yesterday? Taking Cyril on a first date to her own workplace, boring him with talk of her research and sharing the ins and outs of her illness? How silly could she  _ be?  _ It was a surefire method of scaring off anybody, potential love interest or not.

She shook her head.  _ Nope. _ Not a potential love interest. Cyril was simply a patron of the  _ Berry  _ now. That was what she would tell herself.

It upset her slightly. She had thought things had been going well with them — between them; he had seemed to genuinely care, even so far as being the one to reach out to her about researching together.

_ Ah well,  _ she sighed to herself. She got on with her day of serving tea, thanking customers sweetly as they filled up her tip jar.

When 5pm rolled around, Lysithea gave one final clean of each table, packaging up the leftover cakes to take to the nearby homeless shelter. She donned her coat, fuzzy scarf, and had just reached the wall to turn off the lights, when a knock upon the door’s glass startled her.

Whirling around, she found a sight that made her heart stop. Illuminated by the shop’s golden glow, Cyril waved at her, bouncing on his heels. An embarrassed smile lit up his features, and Lysithea felt fireworks explode in her chest.

A grin overcame her face at once, and she beckoned Cyril inside. He obeyed, closing the door behind him and wiping his shoes on the mat.

“Hey!” he chirped as he jogged up to her. “Geez, I’m so sorry I missed ya this mornin’!”

_ Crap. _ Just when she’d been thinking he’d lost interest in her! “N-no worries at all!” she stuttered back. “Was everything okay?”

“Ah yeah,” he replied with that amazing smirk. “I was  _ super _ late for work so I couldn’t stop by. Made my mornin’ real dull, y’know that?”

She felt herself blush. “My morning was dull without you too,” she said. “Not a single person ordered Almyran Pine Needles today. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

He snickered. “What even  _ is _ a life without makin’ Almyran Pine Needles, huh?”

“Too true!”

Cyril began to rummage in his jacket pocket. “Anyways, sorry. I’m excited because I brought ya this.”

He brandished a crumpled strip of paper, one that looked to have been stuffed hastily into his pocket all day, and held it out towards her.

“Sorry it looks a bit cruddy,” he said, looking a little abashed.

“That’s okay.” She took it from him, and found herself met with a string of numbers written haphazardly across the lines. A phone number. She felt her cheeks grow hot at once, butterflies dancing in her stomach and her cheek muscles stretching to make way for the silliest of beams. “Oh, Goddess,” she breathed.  _ His phone number!? Finally! _ “Cyril, I don’t know what to say!”

“Yeah, right!? I just asked Ms. Casagranda for it, no problem!” He shot her a full, lopsided grin, his eyes alight.

Yet Lysithea grew confused. “You asked Ms. Casagranda for it…?” What did  _ that _ mean?

“Yeah! She said Dr. Hanneman would be happy to help. I’m sure he’s real busy and all, but if ya tell him ya work for Ms. Casagranda, he’ll find time for ya super quick.”

_ Oh. Ohhh, right. _ She saw now. The few numbers scrawled upon the paper were not the way to contact the wonderful, mysterious Mr. Cyril Taleb, but instead were for some boring doctor guy.

Cyril’s face fell and he peered closer at her. “Ya look upset. I’m sorry, did I overstep?”

She snapped from out of her stupor, shaking her head. “No, not at all. Thank you Cyril, it’s so kind of you.”

He didn’t look happy. “Nah, what’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer. He reached out a hand towards her once more and placed it gently on her upper arm, thumb rubbing small soothing motions.

She felt an embarrassment surge within her. “I… Honestly, I thought the number would be yours,” she admitted, unsure of whether to laugh or grimace.

His eyes widened, taking on that deer-like look he’d captivated her with those few days ago. “Oh, you… You want  _ my _ number?”

Now she simply felt awkward.

“Nah, it’s okay!” Cyril continued, face breaking into a grin. “That’s cool, c’mon!”

He took the paper back from out of her hand and crossed to the  _ Berry’s _ counter, picking up a pen from next to her order notebook. Next to the doctor’s number, he scrawled the word  _ ‘Hanneman’. _ Afterwards, he flipped over the paper, wrote  _ ‘Almyran Pine Needle Guy’, _ and noted down his own phone number.

He was left-handed. Why did that small, insignificant detail make Lysithea’s cheeks ache with a smile?

He handed the paper back to her. “You’d better text me real soon, I swear.”

Lysithea erupted into chuckles.

“I’m serious! Better make all o’ this worth it.” He smiled broadly.

“Oh, I will. I promise.” She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears. “So, um… Would you like to walk and talk?”

“Sure would.”

Together, they closed up the shop, locking its doors tightly, and began to head down the street in the direction of the residential district.

“Which direction do you live?” Lysithea asked.

“I live in that apartment block near the Seiros Church,” Cyril replied. “It’s real nasty!”

She laughed. “Really!? Being so close to the church I always assumed it would be pristine.”

“Eh, it’s clean enough. I can’t stand dirt. But it’s just small and cramped and cruddy.”

“Ah, such is life in Garreg Mach. You just summed up my place too!”

“Where abouts are you?”

She pointed towards her well-lit street. “Just there across the road.”

“Oh, Hrym Street? Nice! I viewed an apartment there but someone else put down a deposit like an hour before I did.” His face was sour at the memory.

Lysithea, however, began to think. “Wait… When?”

“Hm, let’s see… When I moved in here, about 6 months ago.”

“Oh, Goddess,” muttered Lysithea. “Cyril, I might have stolen that apartment out from under you.”

He whipped around to her, expression incredulous.

“I reserved my place so quickly because somebody else was viewing it, and I wanted it so desperately!” She brought her hands up to her face and regarded Cyril with an apologetic smile.

After they had crossed the street together, turning down Hrym Street, Cyril gasped, feigning offence. “How could you, Lysi!? I trusted you!”

The two of them laughed together, and Lysithea found herself bumping into Cyril’s arm, the way she had those few days ago, desperate for contact with him. To her surprise, he wrapped that arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his ribs how he had that night on the roof.

Just as she was blushing, stuttering over her words, he spoke up. “Is it this big apartment block here?” he asked, pointing with his free hand to her building.

“Yep.”

“Do you live in the top left corner apartment…?”

“... Yep.”

“You little thief!”

She continued to giggle as they walked up to the front doors of the apartment. She stopped suddenly as a thought crossed her mind.

“You didn’t have to walk me home, you know…”  _ How romantic though! _

“I know,” he said, releasing her and placing his hands in his jacket pockets. “But it’s on the way to my own place, I don’t mind at all.”

Lysithea looked down to her shoes and blushed. “It’s very kind of you. But then, we all already knew that.”

He cocked his head at her, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “We all already knew what?”

“How kind you are,” she said, looking back up at him, into those fantastic red eyes that shone like molten gold beneath the setting sun.

As the sky began to dim around them in colours of amber and indigo, Cyril smiled down at her in his loose, handsome manner. He took a step forward, cupped one hand around her jaw, and Lysithea felt her heart somersault as he pressed his lips against hers. They were hard and yet soft, hot and yet cool. But they felt so completely, utterly  _ right _ against her own that she let her eyelids flutter shut.

Just one kiss. After a few seconds, he broke away, and stepped backwards. One corner of his lips quirked upwards, the curls of his hair tousling gently in the breeze.

In that moment, Lysithea knew she’d made the right decision by working at the _ Berry. _ Cyril Taleb was the man of her dreams. She felt her breath hitch in her throat, a silly little thought crossing her mind.

_ Perhaps it was fate that we met. _

“Don’t forget about my number now,” he told her in a voice like velvet.

She bit her lip and stifled a giggle before responding, her voice light and high. “Promise I won’t.”

He winked in response, making her blood pound even harder through her veins.

“See you tomorrow, Almyran Pine Needle Guy,” she told him through a grin.

He stepped backwards still, hands in pockets, teeth bared in a returning smirk. “G’night, Lysi.”


End file.
